


more tumblings

by More_night



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Multi, Poetry, london dinner parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 07:36:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16908849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/More_night/pseuds/More_night
Summary: short things posted on tumblr about desperate pirates





	1. pre-flinthamilton in london

Lord and Lady Hamilton had numerous friends, some very close – who attended their salons –, some moderately – who were invited to dinner on occasions –, and some of the farthest kind. Tonight, the latter were concerned.

It was a ball. The house was one of the richest in London. Their host was a Duke (“obscure, and equally unbearable,” Thomas had said), and their hostess, the Duchess, was an acquaintance of Miranda. Before the dances started, she played the harpsichord. A piece by John Weldon, with John Weldon himself in the audience.

As the crowd began to move and sway around them, James declined Miranda’s offer for a dance. “At least allow me to introduce you to Miss Charlotte Wesley, Lieutenant,” she said, offering him her arm.

He frowned. “Miss Wesley?”

“You may have seen her at our residence,” Thomas said. “She sometimes takes part in my wife’s harpsichord lessons.”

“She is very charming, and sublimely witty,” Miranda pointed out.

James’ eyes went from Miranda to Thomas. He shook his head. “And may I ask what is the point of that introduction, specifically?”

Miranda’s eyes widened with candor. “She is single, James.”

In the seat beside James’, Thomas pointed out, “And she has been engaged previously to one Lieutenant and one shriveling Admiral. Both engagements wore off, but her family is-…”

Arching one eyebrow, James said, “I do not remember Miss Wesley, but I do know the Wesley family. Two Admirals. Three Captains. Brilliant naval strategists.”

“And what could be a strong alliance for you,” Miranda added.

Around James, scattered people talked in their seats. Servants stood rigidly at the doors, their hands full of glimmering trays charged with silvery glasses. In the next room, there were echoes of laughter and music. “I’m grateful for the offer, but I don’t seek marriage, or a situation, at the moment,” he said.

Miranda looked at him, something grave in her eyes, despite the joyfulness that abounded around them. “At the moment,” she agreed. “But what of the future, James?”

Since he had found that the Hamiltons could be friends, friends like he had never had, and even more since Miranda had become his lover, James had kept himself from thinking about where this would all lead him. “My career will take me where it will. Probably far from here. Most likely the West Indies, perhaps India,” he said.

“My wife only means to show you that there may be other options,” Thomas said, calmly. He had perceived the tension in James’ voice. “Less dangerous options.”

James looked at him. “I… Thank you,” he said. “But I don’t think I’m interested.”

With a smile, Miranda clasped his hand. It was unlikely that the other guests would see them, but Thomas certainly did. James’ heart froze in his chest. “James, please,” Miranda said. “Think about it. This would mean stability for you. For us.”

He pulled his hand away and, without meeting Thomas’ eyes, he got to his feet. His uniform was tight. The room was bright and the dances and twirls of dresses made his head spin. “Please excuse me. I need some air,” he said.

He went out into the gardens, almost knocking over a servant carrying Champagne bottles in a pail decorated with flowers and feathers.

–

It was a moment before he managed to breathe again. The gardens were very dark, with young oaks shaping black spots above the paths, masking the sky. On his left, a torch lit up a balcony with a golden glow.

He looked up at the stars, but saw none of them. Not in this light. It was hard to tell where he was exactly, he wondered. The panic had not yet receded.

There were quiet steps behind him on the stony path. “Miranda can be very direct,” Thomas said. “I have always appreciated it.” He walked up to where James stood. “She had told you I was aware of your relationship, yes?”

“Yes, but I…”

Thomas smiled. “You hadn’t seen this coming, I understand,” he said. “I approve of it.”

James nodded. “She said so, yes.”

“And I think you should consider Miss Wesley,” Thomas went on. “Miranda mentioned you to her. She has certainly noticed you.”

Since Thomas had joined him, James was both relieved and tense, as if parts of him had loosened, and others were still threatening to tear. Yet this conversation was always as the ones he shared with Thomas Hamilton – like talking with something inside himself. “I… I like the current state of affairs. I wouldn’t change it,” he said. “Please, excuse my reaction. I’m-…”

“The current state of affairs,” Thomas cut him short softly. “How would you describe it, James?”

“I…” How would he describe it indeed? His thoughts ran around him, with all the new things that had come in his life in the few months he had known the Hamiltons. He liked – he liked that they existed. “I enjoy the conversations we have, and the way we can have them. Conversations where nothing is forbidden, where all thoughts are welcome. I like Miranda. I enjoy her spirit, her freedom, her joy.”

In the dark, it was difficult to see what played exactly on Thomas’ face. But they had talked so much and so often, that James could tell by the stiffness in his shoulders and the low tone of his voice that he spoke from depths not often seen. “Has it occurred to you that I may also find enjoyment in our conversations? That I could value your company, just as Miranda does?” Thomas paused. “I suggested it.”

“What?” James mumbled.

“I suggested introducing you to Charlotte Wesley.”

James shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“A marriage of that kind would mean a swifter move up along the ranks of the Admiralty for you,” Thomas said. “It would also make it less likely for you to be deployed in the event of a war. You could-…”

“Stay in London,” James finished, his brow still creased.

“Safe from the impending war with Spain,” Thomas said.

Thomas had moved closer and emotions were easier to see on his features. James could clearly see friendship, worry, and something much stronger and wilder also, painted golden in the firelight. “I’ll… I’ll think about it,” was all James could say.

Giving a short nod, Thomas opened his mouth. But two young men burst on the terrace to their right. One was laughing loudly, the other following him onto the paths. Three ladies came then, and more noise.

“We should get back inside,” Thomas said.

James followed him, feeling a very strange peace, so intense, it mingled with the equally vivid kinship he felt for Thomas Hamilton. He was still bewildered that these things could exist. It seemed greater than him, and more ardent than anything he had felt before.

As Thomas turned to him, smiling, before they entered the house again, it occurred to James that it was much greater than any love he had known.


	2. i love you scene

Thomas wakes alone. The bed beside him is still warm, unmade, with pleasures and shapes in the sheets. He lifts his head and sees James, sitting on the windowsill. His nightshirt is open, the wintery wind from the window puffs it around his shoulders.

“James,” Thomas says.

James turns towards him, a bit of the shyness from last evening still on his cheeks, like a mask that’s about to slip. “Thomas,” he simply says, warm, but thoughtful.

Thomas sits up in bed. “Are you alright?”

Bringing his eyes back to the window, James stares outside. “Of course,” he says.

The feeling mounts in Thomas that he is very close to losing everything, after he had just discovered it. He frowns, as this feeling chews at his insides. And after a moment, he says, “We can forget what happened last night, if you prefer.”

James frowns, puzzled. “What?”

Thomas looks down. “It is a risk inherent to love that emerges from friendship,” he says. “That the revelation of love might annihilate the friendship underneath.”

James chuckles and cocks an eyebrow, as he does, Thomas has understood long ago, when he deeply disagrees but intends to be polite about it. “You believe me not disposed to be your lover, but want to know if I would still be disposed to be your friend, now that your own dispositions on the matter have been revealed?…”

A blush comes to Thomas’ cheeks. “I…”

“I love you,” James says, abruptly.

Thomas’ mouth goes slightly agape and, once again, James rivets his attention and occupies the entirety of his mind.

James places his palm flat on the window. “And that love makes me an enemy of the world,” he says. “That leaves me with two options: crush the love, and hide it away so no one can doubt it has ever been there. Or consider the world my own enemy.”

“The world can change,” Thomas says, and his voice would sound hopeful, but is somewhat strangled.

James smiles, then gets up and shuts the window.

His pace is slow, and – Thomas sees now – deliberate and firm. Like he’s finally found footing on the earth.

He sits on the bed besides Thomas, and says, “We tend to disagree on the modalities of that,” he says. “But yes, it can.”

And love is not a feeling. Love is stone and bones. And all this while, Thomas realizes, he thought he had found James, and now it’s like James has found him.


	3. flint reading poetry to silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flint reading poetry to Silver during Silver's stay in his cabin in 2x10. The verses are from Milton's _Samson Agonistes_ , lines 606-616 with some spelling adjustments.

He still cannot feel much of anything, and he doesn’t recognize what’s around him. There’s wood, and pillows, and blankets. And the window and the sea. This he starts to remember. Always the fucking sea.

“What happened?” he asks. He’s not sure who’ll answer. This looks like the man-o’-war, but it would be…

There’s a moment. “Vane’s men bashed your leg to pieces with the poll of an ax,” Flint says. His voice is softer than Silver has heard it in a while. But, yes, it must be Flint’s cabin.

He wants to ask why is your voice like that, where are we, what happened to the men, what happened to Charles Town, why is your voice like that, and Mrs. Barlow, what of Mrs. Barlow. But all of it fades again.

–

It takes Silver a moment to realize there are things, and that those things are days, and that there is a lot of opium in his blood.

It will take him longer for the leg.

“All your life, probably,” Flint says, holding the cup of water.

“Not if it’s a new life,” Silver says.

Flint huffs.

–

“What are you reading?”

Flint looks up. He may have thought Silver asleep again. “It’s a play in verse by John Milton. Called Samson Agonistes.”

“Verse,” Silver pulls himself up against the pillows. “What does it sound like?”

Flint huffs again. There hasn’t been a real smile on his face since Silver has been awake. They are sailing south, and Mrs. Barlow is nowhere. “You know poetry?”

“I am a very bad pirate,” Silver says.

“You can be a very good pirate,” Flint says, and his lips join tightly. “And know some poetry.”

Silver feels the night air on his face. The night is better: he can’t really see the ocean. It all appears as a continuity of stars and moon, the ones above and the ones reflected below. “What does it say?” he asks again.

There is almost a smile now. “O that torment should not be confined,” Flint reads. “To the bodies wounds and sores with maladies innumerable in heart, head, brest, and reins; but must secret passage find to th’inmost mind, there exercise all his fierce accidents, and on her purest spirits prey, as on entrails, joints and limbs, with answerable pains, but more intense, though void of corporal sense.”

Silver tilts his head back. Flint keeps reading. His voice is still lost. But Silver listens.

–

Howell has brought him the boot for the first time. He still can’t get up on it, it hurts too much. Flint sees it, and doesn’t say anything. Silver hasn’t said anything about Mrs. Barlow.

“Milton’s Samson,” Silver says once.

“Robbed of his strength and of his sight,” Flint says.

Silver looks up, still panting, unstraps the boot. “Which one of us is he?”

Flint has begun smiling again, but it’s different, not shark-like anymore. “It can be both of us.”

“Or us together.”

That new smile. It seems to say you are a wound to me. Silver has only seen it directed at him. “Seems apt.”


End file.
